Hunger of the Pine
by JuliaRuairc
Summary: Jim is going to be away for work longer than expected. Phone sex ensues.


"This is going to take a few extra days," Jim's annoyed voice filtered over the line. The criminal had the phone close to his ear on the other end as he walked and the detective could hear a hoarseness that indicated he'd recently been yelling at someone, despite his current resigned tone.

Good, Sherlock thought, feeling more put out by this development than Jim sounded, even if he wasn't the one who'd have to work with inane persons for longer than expected.

"And you can't finish the rest from here because?" Sherlock asked. Jim had already been gone a week. He had only planned to be gone a week and Sherlock had run through all the prior crimes and little bouts of stimulation Jim had set up for him while he was to be out of town. That coupled with the fact that London was being exceptionally boring and this news of Jim's prolonged absence, left Sherlock a bit more than pissed.

He wanted Jim in London again. Preferably right next to him. Especially, if Jim was attempting that innocent grin which was just filthy enough that Sherlock wanted to flaunt him in all the clubs and every coffee shop while at the same time keeping the criminal all to himself and never letting him leave the flat again.

"I told you why before I left," Jim said, suddenly sounding knackered.

Sherlock sighed. They'd made reservations at a high-end restaurant for the coming weekend. It had taken several strings to secure and would take even more to get rescheduled. The detective had actually been looking forward to it, but this wasn't even about that. Sherlock didn't want to have to wait to try the place for such a stupid reason as Jim still being in Bergen. Maybe he could justify it if Jim couldn't have been arsed to put on clothes. Sherlock would be more amiable to missing the haute cuisine then.

There was a soft click of a hotel room door on the other end of the line followed by the sound of Jim emptying his pockets on a glass surface.

"So you're holing up for the night?"

"Yeah. It's like these people have never heard of a rush job before..."

Sherlock frowned. He hated a lack of professionalism in any field. But it was always exceedingly frustrating when it was to do with Moriarty and the criminal's enterprise, which Sherlock had a vested interest in for a number of reasons.

"I'll cancel with Ruchini's tomorrow," Sherlock reassured. The detective could hear the muffled sound of Jim's shiny shoes being thrown across the hotel room, followed by the bounce of mattress springs as he flopped back on the bed.

"What are you doing now?" Jim asked. The detective shifted in his arm chair. Jim's voice had suddenly went hushed and low the way it did when he was lying next to Sherlock.

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing," Sherlock answered restlessly. He stood and walked over to the fridge, briefly checking the progress of his remaining experiments. None of them needed his attention, of course. "It's great, really," Sherlock continued distaste evident and turning aimlessly back to the living room. "I can't decide if I want to have a lie down, shoot my brains out, or meditate."

"Oh, that sounds good," Jim's voice came over the line, interest quirked.

"Meditating?" Sherlock asked, slightly confused. While he had seen Moriarty meditate a number of times, he didn't expect this to be group activity hour.

"No, silly. Having a lie down," Jim clarified, but he didn't sound drowsy. In fact, he sounded wired and up for something else completely.

"You're not gonna have a wank?"

Jim hummed his agreement. In Sherlock's mind, over a thousand kilometers away, the image of Jim on their bed came unbidden, his hand palming over the growing bulge in his pants. Sherlock had walked in on that too many times for the image to not pop up, which wasn't to say it wouldn't still be etched there if he'd only seen Jim like that once.

"Are you touching yourself?"

Jim huffed a laugh, "Obviously, Sherl."

"Stop."

"Stop?" Jim's tone is more curious than anything else.

"Yes," Sherlock swallowed and continued blithely. "You should open yourself up for me."

"If only..." Jim said, sounding disappointed. But Sherlock didn't see why not. Jim was going to get off regardless and it wasn't as if the criminal wouldn't be thinking about him anyway. He wanted to talk Jim through his orgasm. "But you're notjoining me." Sherlock could almost see him pouting now.

"True," Sherlock allowed. He wasn't flying to Norway on a whim. "I want you to come from just getting yourself ready for me."

And then Sherlock heard a soft "Oh" on the other end, followed by the rustling of fabric.

"Tell me what you're doing," Sherlock said, after a couple of seconds following the distinct tear of a packet of lube.

"I've gotten off my pants," Jim exhales. "Am working a finger now."

"It's been a while," Sherlock comments.

"I'm pretty tight. Wish you could give me a little distraction. Suck my-"

"Don't touch yourself," Sherlock cut in.

"Fine," Jim said in a tone that most certainly guaranteed he was pouting.

Sherlock made a pleased hum. Jim was silent on the other end for several seconds.

A stifled huff came over the line. "Let me hear you," Sherlock encouraged, before asking, "Are you looking for something?"

"Yes, actually, doing this with a phone is rather difficult," Jim murmured. "Bit hard to pretend that you're doing this. My fingers aren't nearly as long as yours anyway."

"Then put me on speaker," Sherlock sighed like it was the most obvious thing. He was just glad that Jim tended to be loud so he wouldn't miss any noises.

"Kay, it's on," Jim's voice was slightly distant, as he put the phone next to him on the bed and settled back down.

"Feel good?" Sherlock asked.

Jim made an exaggerated hum. The detective rolled his eyes.

"Well, put another in then," Sherlock said. "I'm not that small, James."

Moriarty breathed out, "I know."

Sherlock bit back a satisfied smirk as he heard Moriarty's breath hitch, before Jim said, slightly strained. "But you're not as big as you think you are either."

Sherlock made a sound that was caught between a hurumph and a scoff. He heard a giggle from Jim on the other end which turned into a shaky gasp. Sherlock took that as proof Jim found his prostate.

"I wish I could kiss you," Jim said, breathing loud and quick in the hotel room.

Sherlock hummed. He liked kissing Jim when he was like this, desperate and begging Sherlock to touch his cock.

"Wish you were doing this," Jim whispered.

"How would I do it?" Sherlock asked low.

"Your long fingers would-," Jim said in a rush, voice pitching high. "You'd be able to go so much deeper. Mmmm and the way you'd-" Jim continued, his words coming in starts and stops. "-you know how you like to pick a rhythm and- you'd bring me right to the edge only to draw me back again."

Sherlock did like to do that. Watching Jim come undone was a fascinating sight and taking him to the brink multiple times was the perfect way to do it.

"You would keep pace better anyway-," Jim stopped trying to talk completely, his breath having dissolved almost entirely into moans. "I'm so close. Sherlock-"

Jim gave a soft shudder of a breath as he came. Sherlock had a desperate urge to see Jim like this, totally blissed out and splayed beneath him, utterly debauched.

"Well," Jim said directly into the receiver a few minutes later, breath caught but voice still syrupy and sated. "That was nice. But you've not touched yourself."

"No," Sherlock stated.

"Do you want me to talk you through your's?"

"No," Sherlock interrupted. "But when you get back-"

"You'll join me," Jim finished, sounding pleased. "I'll hold you to that."

"Then you best get back to London quick," Sherlock smirked.

"As if I would dawdle with incentive like that," Jim laughed. "Be good, love."

Sherlock scoffed and ended the call.


End file.
